


Something About Us

by Dathen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aro Gerry, Gen, Gerry lives AU, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dathen/pseuds/Dathen
Summary: As time went by, he found himself seeking out some kinds of stories above others.  Some made him ache with jealousy—wholesome families, protective siblings.  Some felt distant and dull, especially when “coming of age” seemed to mean “find a girlfriend.”  But friends—friends could be found.  You didn’t have to be born with them.  There was stillhope, away from home, away from his mother...He kept reading stories.  Stories were all he had.  He fought back the loathing that the touch of a book cover sometimes gave him, tried to fill his dreams with things other than nightmares.--Gerry Lives AU, spoilers through TMA 111.  Written for Aspec Archives Week, “stories” prompt.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, JonGerryMartin (QPR), side Jon/Martin
Comments: 30
Kudos: 158
Collections: Aspec Archives Week





	Something About Us

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: Keay-family-typical references to an abusive parent.

Gerry has always had a complicated relationship with books. 

When his mother placed one in front of him, his stomach would twist in knots before he touched the cursed pages. After the first few she made him read, even the sight of a book outside his home had his spine stiffening and throat tightening. _Any one of them could hold our secrets,_ she said to him, smiling that knife-sharp smile of hers.

But sometimes she would take him with her to a library, and he would trail behind her as she scanned the shelves with a disapproving stare. Gerry would stay very quiet, more to avoid that stare wheeling round towards him than any shushing of the librarians. Sometimes her disapproval would shatter into dangerous glee, quickly masked, and Gerry would feel sick. Far more often, though, the disapproval would etch itself deeper and deeper into her features until she yanked on his arm and spun towards the door. Then--and only then--he knew the books were safe.

He would wait as long as it took for something else to snag his mother’s attention before daring to sneak back. Often the librarian shot him a puzzled glance, but he was good at lying. You didn’t last long around Mum without being good at lying. “Mum forgot one she wanted!” he answered the questioning look, careful not to raise his voice too loud. Then off he went to dig through the shelves she’d found so little interest in. Knowing his mother thought they were worthless gave them all the glow of safety. Then, and only then, could he touch a book without the urge to yank his hand back.

Gerry couldn’t say what his tastes in reading were at first. Any book he found that didn’t flood his eyes with darkness or tear the breath from his lungs was a prize--his own secret, small rebellion. It didn’t matter if it was a story about a girl flying to space on a bicycle or a boy getting his first dog. Before long he decided he didn’t care much for the ones about discovering magic--his fingertips prickled with fear that the _price_ of such power would catch up to them, and he always found himself envious when it didn’t.

As time went by, he found himself seeking out some kinds of stories above others. Some made him ache with jealousy—wholesome families, protective siblings. Some felt distant and dull, especially when “coming of age” seemed to mean “find a girlfriend.” But friends—friends could be found. You didn’t have to be born with them. There was still _hope_ , away from home, away from his mother...

He kept reading stories. Stories were all he had. He fought back the loathing that the touch of a book cover sometimes gave him, tried to fill his dreams with things other than nightmares.

\----

“Did you want any recommendations?”

Gerry jolted at the librarian’s voice behind him. It didn’t matter if he was frowning up at the library’s ‘Teen Section’ sign or huddling in front of a back alley with his mother; loud noises always sent a shock through him. He drew a deep breath to push down the surge of adrenaline as he turned around. “Yeah, sure,” he said, projecting aloofness. He was good at aloof, when he tried. 

He didn’t recognize the woman who smiled back. New volunteer, maybe? “What kind of books do you like?” she asked, leaning to turn her smile towards the book under his arm. Gerry shifted it further out of sight, hoping it didn’t seem like he was trying to steal it or something. He was pretty sure that the title was hidden, but the colorful cover was harder to mask. 

“Dunno,” he said quickly. “I’m thinking something new. Got anything weird?”

“I have just the thing,” she said, and strode past him towards the word ‘TEEN’ emblazoned in neon over the nearby shelves. Gerry was pretty sure she didn’t. He’d been to the teen section plenty--even sneaking in before he’d turned thirteen, sure he’d get in trouble but even more sure that he could handle things _much_ scarier than what any adult would ever see. Turned out it wasn’t the scariness that put him off most of the books he found. 

A few minutes and a bit of stilted small talk later, the librarian held out a book. “You’re in luck, this one is nearly always checked out. You look like someone who’d enjoy a space adventure.” Gerry took it with a thin smile, ignoring the summary she gave next. He’d made it halfway through this one before the main character stopped talking to his friend because they liked the same girl. His stomach was still twisting in knots when he returned it the next day. 

He voiced none of this. “Sounds great, thanks,” he said, injecting a bit more life into his tone, and turned away towards the checkout. At least now, he wouldn’t show up with just a single book from the ‘Recommended for Ages Ten and Older’ shelf. 

Gerry held the space adventure novel on top so only its cover would show, even though he knew no one would pay him any mind on the Tube ride home. He carefully hid both of them in his coat before opening his front door. His mum wasn’t supposed to be home for another day, but sometimes she told him so and then sat waiting with that razor smile when he entered. He let out a breath of relief seeing the empty hallway, but still didn’t take the books out of his coat until he was in his room with the door shut. It had no lock, but he jiggled the handle until it hit that weird angle he knew would take an extra second or two to work open. 

The next step was to shove his blankets into a lump between him and the door, and only then did he open the book he meant to check out. It was a favorite; one he had checked out again and again since he first found it. Gerry had even considered trying to find a place to buy it, but the thought of _owning_ a book he would have to hide for the rest of his life seemed too much of a challenge. Two weeks at a time was a risk he could handle, even if it meant dealing with “oh yes, you like that one a lot, don’t you” at checkout. It was fine when he was younger, but the thought of the librarians gossiping about _that teenager who keeps checking out children’s books_ made his ears burn. 

He checked the inside cover first out of fear-scarred habit, and then flipped to the last chapter.

A HAPPY ENDING the title announced bluntly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Just beneath was an illustration: a simple black and white sketch of three figures sprawled on a pile of cushions. One sat facing the others, smile bright and hands weaving through the air as he told some story. One seemed half-asleep, draped across the lap of the third, just enough of their face showing beneath a curtain of long hair to show a contented smile. The last rested a hand in their hair as she smiled up at the first. Gerry had tried drawing the scene itself, but he could never capture the peace or warmth of the scene, the way their faces were soft with affection.

_The three friends discuss their adventures,_ said the caption beneath. “Three friends” seemed too limited to describe them. Eagerness welled in his heart to page back to follow the journey of how they grew close, how they looked out for each other, but he lingered over the drawing a moment more. This is how it _ended_. They didn’t leave each other, or drift apart, or meet years later with stiff smiles and hands on their children’s shoulders. Maybe they never found boyfriends or girlfriends. Maybe they stayed together forever. 

\----

Gerry did end up buying the book, many years later, and a half-dozen more for his phone reader. It would be a long plane ride to America.

\----

[London, 2017]

“Gerry? There’s, ah...there’s something I hoped to talk to you about.”

It had been a while since they flew back from America together, but Gerry still felt a faint thrill each time Jon spoke his name. _I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry_ , he’d said at their first meeting, and he was all but shocked when Jon repeated the name back at him. Maybe it was just simple manners, something anyone who wasn’t Gertrude or his mother would agree to, but each time Jon said it, Gerry heard _I’m your friend_.

Gerry shook his head to clear his thoughts, only just noticing how nervous Jon looked. He was perched awkwardly on one of the plastic break room chairs, eyes fixed on the tea kettle to one side. He tugged on his sleeves in that way that Gerry had learned to read in no time.

“Something wrong?” said Gerry.

More fidgeting. “I...I’ve noticed, ah, some things, and feel that I should...well. I should be honest with you.”

Gerry’s stomach twisted. Ever since they left America, the feeling that it was all too good to be true was a constant refrain; he pushed it down and hoped his tone remained even as he answered, “Sure.”

Jon turned to stare at him, brown eyes wide and earnest. “I-I may be misunderstanding!” he said, so quickly the words tripped over each other, “but I have--ah-- _romantic intentions_. Elsewhere. You, you understand, I hope.” Jon’s ears were turning red, and he rapidly unbuttoned and buttoned the cuff of his sleeve.

Gerry blinked. _Romantic intentions_ hadn’t occurred to him in the least, but as he mulled over the past few weeks he felt his face grow hot. The way he sought Jon out whenever he got the impulse to go anywhere. The time he bought the eyeliner he saw Jon eyeing at Tesco’s, and offered to put it on him the next day. The way his hands seemed to find Jon’s arm or shoulder or knee on their own (but Gerry was always so cold, and the startled smile Jon gave him each time warmed him just as much). 

Of course. Of course. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” he answered, careful not to make it sound disgusted or offended. It came out hoarse, shaky. His life had stopped being the cursed book filled with nightmares when he met Jon, but maybe it would be the one where the friends drift apart after one finds _romantic intentions_ elsewhere. 

His attempt at indifference crumbled. “I just want friends.” He couldn’t stop the words that came out plaintive, _childish_. It felt like he swallowed a sharp rock. _Don't leave me behind,_ he couldn’t say. 

All at once the nervous look was gone from Jon’s face, replaced by something fierce and determined. He leaned forward, nearly tipping the flimsy chair forward. “You have me, Gerry.” Wide brown eyes burned with sincerity as they bored into him. “You’ll have me until I die.”

And there was that thrill again, even as his throat closed up. What could he say to that? He’d taught himself not to cry as a kid, but he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to speak quite yet. Instead, he let a hand find Jon’s (like it always wanted to do), cold against the warm, scarred skin. Jon’s other hand fluttered over and patted his twice, more awkward than anything, and Gerry let himself grin. 

“ _So_ , tell me more,” he said, leaning to prop his boots on the table without letting go of Jon’s hand. “It’s Martin, isn’t it?”

Jon flushed in an instant, and Gerry laughed.

(The next day, Jon asked Gerry if he'd like to join him and Martin for lunch.)

\----

[Scotland, 2018]

“Honestly, Gerry, the least you could do is let me paint them something other than black.” Jon shifted his grip on Gerry’s hand so he could get a better angle on his thumb.

Gerry settled back against Martin and admired the nails Jon had already painted, even as he wrinkled his nose at the sharp smell of the polish. “I like black, though.”

“You don’t say,” quipped Martin from above him. 

Gerry weighed batting at him versus the risk of smudging his nails and decided the angle was too awkward. “Matches my hair,” he said instead.

“And your boots, and your clothes, and your makeup—“

Gerry twisted to grin sharply up at Martin. “Oh, but you _like_ the makeup.”

“If I drop my book on your head it will be your fault,” said Martin primly.

“Please refrain, Martin, you’ll smudge my work,” Jon said. He soothed a thumb over Gerry’s hand as he leaned to dip the brush in the bottle of polish. “You know, Gerry, this would be easier at the table.”

“Don’t bother, I like him right here,” said Martin, and ran his fingers through the hair spread in a glossy curtain over his lap.

“You heard the man,” said Gerry, and as he settled back, an image sprang to mind: a long-haired figure resting between two friends, perfectly at peace, smiling as they listen to the banter of the ones they love. The story where they weren’t left behind, and didn’t have to fear a lonely future. His breath caught in his throat, and tears pricked at his eyes. 

It took him a moment to notice Jon was speaking to him. “I saw a bottle of clear polish with gold flecks at the village shop when I picked this up,” he said, holding Gerry’s hand in both of his as he peered at his work. “It would look nice painted over black. Next time, maybe?”

Gerry blinked rapidly, scrunching his nose again to blame it on the acetone. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly hoarse. “Yeah, next time sounds nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to semnai and god_commissioned_me for the beta and support! 
> 
> Find me at @dathen on tumblr or @datheneth on twitter! Comments are adored and appreciated, and I'd love to hear from you.


End file.
